Say Hello
by Kneazle
Summary: [ABANDONED] Post.Hogwarts. Hermione is in Dire Need of a vacation. Desperate to show she's more than just a Bookworm, she heads out to find herself, while learning a little more about the world and love. fanon!BlaiseHermione
1. Say Hello 01

Say Hello

Kneazle

Summary: Post-Hogwarts; Hermione is labeled a Bookworm and it just Won't Go Away. She decides to show she's more than a one-dimensional character. While she's out finding herself, she learns a little more about the world and love.

AN: "Say Hello" belongs to Deep Dish.

----

_Tricky time never slows…  
That moment walked me by without bothering to say –  
Say Hello…_

_Lucky time never stops…  
That moment knocked me down without bothering to – _

_Say Hello… _

----

**Chapter One**

The bass was pounding and the lights were flashing all around the large room. A carbon fog machine spilled out white air in a loud hissing burst; scantily clad bodies were moving up and down to the beat and against each other. People were sweaty and thirsty as friends passed water bottles to each other and others danced looser than others with alcohol in their systems.

Here and there, scattered around the large club were people with Glo Stiks performing light shows for those who kneeled on the floor, staring into the lights as they proceeded to get tripped out, thanks to the drugs they were on.

Heaven nightclub, found at Charing Cross Arches was near Diagon Alley. In fact, after doing some pre-drinking at the Three Broomsticks, which kicked the loud, boisterous group of twenty-something wizards and witches at 12am, the group then traveled to Heaven nightclub to listen to some trance until the wee hours of the morning: 6 am.

Ok, so it was typically a gay nightclub, but that never stopped the witches and wizards from having fun. That is, except Hermione Granger. The twenty-one year old witch who worked at _Flourish and Blotts_ as a book binder in their backroom was currently sitting in one of the lounge areas, her knees crossed and her head propped up in one hand. She was wearing a sweater and jeans and looked slightly out of place of her fashionably dressed friends.

They were on the dance floor, enjoying the music and the drinks and the drugs, while she played sensible and realized that at 7am, when she got back to her flat, she'd only have enough time to shower and redress before going to work. In fact, Hermione didn't even know why her friends wanted her to come out with them on Saturday when she worked a Sunday shift.

"Looking lonely there," commented a voice from Hermione's right, as she glanced up at the red-haired young man.

"George," she replied.

"Hermione," he mocked. Grinning, he settled himself next to her on the lounge chair and draped an arm across the back. "So what's up, 'Mione? You seem a bit… down. Why not joining in on the party?"

"I _work_ at 9am, George. Why do you think I'm not joining?" asked Hermione rhetorically.

"Jesus," he whistled, frowning slightly as his sky blue eyes turned a colour that Hermione could only describe as midnight blue. "What are you doing out here then?"

"Like I know," she muttered back, unheard over the pounding music. Sighing, she stood, smoothed down her jeans and said, "I'm leaving George. I'll see you later."

Before George could say anything akin to begging her to stay, Hermione had gathered her purse, left a twenty pound note for her one Sex on the Beach and for George's Stella that he had with him, and was pushing through the crowd to get to the main entrance and exit.

Once she was outside – after bidding the bouncers and two police good evening – Hermione heaved in a large gulp of fresh city and let out a giant sigh.

Life just wasn't easy for her.

--

She had bags under her eyes, her hair was a real rat's nest, her clothes were slightly wrinkled and she had a coffee stain on her jeans from earlier that morning. Hermione Granger was not having a good day.

In fact, she was rightfully having a shitty day. She arrived home at her flat in the SoHo district at 3am, promptly fell asleep in her clothes and at 8am woke up, giving her barely half an hour to dress, eat breakfast, and apparate to work. Her hot water was all used up, she ran out to a local coffee house and waited in an impossibly long line, apparated to work only to be stuck in _another_ long line of signing forms (security measure post-Voldemort), and arrived, for the first time she had worked at Flourish, ten minutes late.

She was promptly yelled at, and then told to get straight to work; which she did, only the books she was rebinding were old and dusty, causing her to sneeze and spill her coffee all over her jeans. _Scourgify_ worked lovely usually, but Hermione's nerves were already frazzled so all she got out was some of the stain.

And it was only eleven in the morning.

Hermione was muttering under her breath various spells and hexes when Harry walked through the backroom door.

He took one look at her, and stopped. "Wow."

"Thanks," replied Hermione snidely, rolling her eyes at her best friend, once she had looked up. "You're looking absolutely peachy."

"Liar!" laughed Harry affectionately, as he ran a hand through his overly messy hair. "I should've done what you did and leave early."

"I doubted that anyone would notice my disappearance."

"George told us."

"Oh."

The two were silent as Hermione continued with her duties. Her wand tip ran across the old bindings of the ancient book she was fixing, turning the spine golden as it was repaired.

"Molly's having a dinner tonight," said Harry suddenly. "I crashed at the Burrow last night, so she mentioned it to me when I left this morning. Since we're both honorary Weasleys, we're invited."

"When are we not?" smiled Hermione, looking up finally. "I suppose I'll be there. I only work until four."

"Want me to pick you up?" asked Harry, a tiny smile forming on his lips. Hermione laughed.

"You only want to do that because you know my fridge is stocked with food and because you want to snooze on my couch!" Hermione sighed and nodded. "Sure. I'd appreciate it."

Harry grinned. "Not a problem, Hermione. I'd do it anyway, even if you didn't have a full fridge or that awesome leather couch." He then frowned and looked over at her. "You don't look too good, though. Are you… are you okay?"

Hermione shrugged. She didn't know what to say; despite having partied most of the morning, Harry looked fine – his shirt wasn't rumpled and he was dressed nicely, as the Black and Potter heir is wont to do. He didn't look tired, but had a weary look in his eyes that was common since the war. In fact, Harry looked perky.

"I guess I'm okay. I just feel like I'm trapped –" Hermione's voice dropped to a whisper. "—here. Like I can't go out and have fun and like I'm never going to go anywhere in life. After everything I did in Hogwarts, with you and the Horcruxes, I just end up as a bloody book binder."

Harry blinked. "We all thought you were happy. You love books."

"Sure I do!" agreed Hermione, "I love books because I love to learn. This is just…" she looked around at the piles upon piles of books stacked everywhere in the room – on the three walls of shelves, the desk that sat in the middle, piled on the floor and chair – and her face crumpled. "Boring."

Harry managed a tiny smile, walking toward Hermione and leaning against the desk she was working at. "Take a few days off, then. You can, right? You've been here long enough for vacation time, right?"

Hermione sighed. "Maybe. I'm not sure."

Harry grinned wickedly and leaned in, closer to his best female friend. "Then quit."

"I can't!"

"Of course you can!" whispered Harry back, slightly harsher than he meant. At Hermione's disbelieving look, he drew his eyebrows together and began speaking again. "Are you not the same girl that solved Snape's logic riddle in our first year? Figured out it was a Basilisk in the Chamber of Secrets? The very same girl who helped Sirius escape from the Dementors and from Fudge's idiocy? Taught me the best damn _accio_ there has ever been performed at the TriWizard Tournament? Fought next to me in the Department of Mysteries, despite knowing it was a trap? Wanted to free House Elves? Helped Ron _cheat_ to stay on the Quidditch team – which, by the way, neither of us has told him about?"

Hermione hung her head and looked away as she backed from Harry slowly. "That girl is long gone, Harry. She was a silly schoolgirl, not a young woman knowing what the real world is like."

Harry sighed and ran his hand through his hair, messing it up more. "Whatever, Hermione. It's your life and decision."

He then leaned forward, pecked her cheek, and murmured, "I'll be here at four to pick you up."

Hermione didn't say goodbye.

--

The Weasley dinners are large family events. They include a large number of redheads, all with near bottomless stomachs. The women who have married into the Weasley family are known as the 'Missus Weasleys' and command respect and attention over the single Weasleys – male or female. The talk would depend on who you were talking to, but mainly central topics were Quidditch, Muggle technology, Hogwarts, children, finding yourself a good, suitable match, _Witch Weekly_, Gladrags and the Ministry of Magic.

Hermione hated Weasley dinners with a passion.

She never failed to miss one, though; she went to every, bloody, single dinner and endured constant hours of needling and whining of the other Weasley females about why she was still single, how they knew a brilliant young wizard to match her up with, why she didn't try out Gladrags new dress robes, and that blue was her colour, so why didn't she wear it more often?

Hermione, plainly and simply, hated it.

But she loved the Weasleys. They were her second family. They took her in every summer, sent her Christmas cards and gifts, and treated her like a daughter or sister. They were there for advice, to be brothers and poke and tease her, to protect her when she needed it (and that wasn't often) and to make her smile.

She didn't smile that much anymore, either.

Hermione and Harry arrived promptly at six, already hearing Molly Weasley screaming at Ron for sneaking a finger into a pie early.

Sharing an exasperated look, the two walked into the Burrow without knocking and immediately found themselves in the middle of hugs and hello's. The Missus Weasleys were grouped together, with Ginny Weasley, the youngest and only still single Weasley female – but as Hermione walked over to say hello, she realized that Ginny wouldn't be single for that much longer.

"Hermione!" squealed the young girl, of barely twenty-years-old, bouncing forward to grab her best friends' hands. "Can you believe it? Neville _proposed_!"

The girl was glowing, and Hermione fought down an ugly, sick feeling in her stomach that she didn't want to think about to smile.

"That's wonderful, Gin," laughed Hermione, "Congratulations! Is that what the dinner is about? An engagement party?"

Ginny blushed. "Yes and no, Hermione. Neville proposed last night when we were at the club. It was so romantic, we were outside and the sun was just starting to rise when he turned to me, got down on one knee and just plainly asked, 'Marry me?'"

Hermione smiled, if not a bit wistfully. No man, not Viktor, Ron, or anyone else for that matter, had ever been that romantic to her.

"Lucky you," she said sincerely, squeezing Ginny's hands and then letting go. She was acutely aware of the Missus Weasleys in the background – Fleur Delacour, Penelope Clearwater and Angelina Johnson – staring at her and Penelope opening her mouth to start talking to Hermione… about something not-so-good, she was sure.

"Sorry Gin, Harry and Ron will want to talk to me," Hermione smiled apologetically, glancing briefly in the direction over Ginny's shoulder at the Missus, "I'll talk to you later. Congrats again!"

Ginny looked a bit put out, but waved briefly, her diamond ring flashing as it hit the light. "Oh. Okay. Um, bye, Hermione."

--

Dinner was tense; at least, to Hermione it felt that way. George sat on her left and Harry on her right. The large table was accommodated to fit the entire clan, and Molly was beside herself that everyone could make the dinner, even Bill, who had been feeling under the weather due to his semi-Lycanthropy.

Neville and Ginny were smiling and Ginny was bouncing lightly in her seat, both beaming at each other and being annoyingly couple-ish. Penelope was avoiding any alcohol, as she was four months along, while Percy looked decidedly smug and was cleaning the same lens over and over on his robes.

"So, Hermione…"

Hermione inwardly groaned. _Not this again…_

"… Have you met anyone in your life?"

Hermione forced a tight smile and politely replied to Penelope. "No, I haven't. I'm really immersed in my work at _Flourish and Blotts_ right now. It's time consuming."

Fleur looked confused. "But I thought –" she looked over at Bill and frowned. "—did you not go out to ze disco last night?"

Hermione gritted her teeth as Harry stopped eating next to her to watch. He knew she hated this. Absolutely hated. And George was no help, being un-twin-ish and not helping her out of the situation.

"Yes, I did, which was a very large mistake, and I left early because of the mistake."

"Oh."

Hermione held her breath; were they going to end it there?

"Did you meet anyone? Is that why you left early, and are calling last night a mistake?" Penelope continued.

Molly gasped. "You weren't _compromised_, were you, Hermione dear?"

Ron's hand hit his head and he groaned under his breath, ignoring Arthur's inquiries about indigestion.

"No, I wasn't compromised, Molly." Hermione gave a steely glare at Penelope. "I had to work this morning, so it was a mistake to go out when I knew I wouldn't get enough sleep."

"Well, sleep didn't help you much if you left early, Hermione!" laughed Penelope lightly. "You still look tired. Are you all right?"

"I'm fine."

"Have you tried that make-up spell clipping I gave you from _Witch Weekly_ a month ago? It has some great spells about hiding bags under your eyes and freshening spells," continued Angelina, looking concerned and ignoring Fred's tugging at her sleeve.

Hermione's knuckles were going white. She had gone through this before, damnit! Why didn't they just get the message?

Fleur clapped her hands and the table's eyes went to her next. "I know ze perfect outfit, 'Ermione! Gladrags 'as a super sale going on right now…"

"It's the hair, Hermione… it's so bushy! It's such a rat's nest. How are you ever going to find someone who'll love that tangle?"

"You're too pale, why don't you use Tammeline's No-line Tanning Oil? I've got a bottle from Katie that she never used…"

"Ze French use perfume, it is quite wonderful! All ze smells and delights one finds in picking out ze right scent… you are a flower, I think, 'Ermione!"

Nag, nag, nag, criticize, criticize, criticize. They never grew old of it, and they enjoyed it. Maybe they didn't realize how much they were hurting Hermione and her self-esteem every time they took a jab at her less-than-desirable appearance, but Hermione was at her breaking point.

"I bet you're still a virgin too, right? Ron didn't take care of that back at Hogwarts, did he?"

Ron's jaw dropped, a piece of half-chewed chicken unattractively showing.

Hermione stood up abruptly, slamming her hands on the kitchen table, making the china rattle.

"_Enough_!" she hissed. She glared at Fleur, Penelope and Angelina, before saying frostily, "Thank you for the invite, Molly, but I need to go now."

She then disapparated right out of the kitchen with barely a pop.

--

Shaking, pale, and angry, Hermione appeared in her apartment with tears on her cheeks.

She never did anything to the Missus Weasleys in her life and yet every time she left the Weasley dinners she felt so horrible about herself and proceeded to cry herself to sleep.

So frustrated, Hermione took to pacing the hallway of her flat, her hands clutching at her hair as she stared at the floor. Finally, she went to the bathroom, flipped the light switch and looked at herself in the mirror.

And cried some more.

Her hair _was_ a rat's nest, a huge tangle that was knotted and messy and all over the place like Harry's. She _did_ have bags under her eyes, dark blue ones that showed she hadn't been sleeping well. Her skin was pale and blotchy in some areas from her crying and she was wearing frumpy, librarian style clothes that made her look forty instead of twenty-one.

Hermione did not like what she saw. In fact, Penelope, Fleur and Angelina were right. She had, sometime between Hogwarts classes, work, Horcruxes, Voldemort, the war and moving on with their lives, Hermione had lost track of herself and had slipped into this woman that she didn't know.

She didn't want to know her.

In a split-second decision, Hermione was rummaging through the cupboard under the sink and pulling out her toiletries case. She dumped in her shampoo, brush, toothbrush, floss and toothpaste; her glasses case (for reading. Reading by candlelight hurt her eyes in the long run), necessities, and her basic lip-gloss.

She went to the bedroom next, pulling out a duffle bag and a roll-case, and began filling both with clothing.

She was on the floor, sorting through her panties and bras when George, Fred, Harry and Ron walked in.

Harry and Ron, she had expected. They were her best friends and she loved them like her own. They knew her inside-out, as only people who spend all their time together for four months hunting down dangerous Dark Artifacts do.

George and Fred, however, were unexpected. She had become close to George, during the war, as he had asked her to come up with some nifty spells for their products that were now going to serve as primary weapons for the Order and Aurors. It was then that she began spilling secrets to the Twins and considered them friends; but she didn't think they'd arrive at her flat to make sure she was all right!

"Hermione?" asked Ron tentatively. "Are you okay?"

Fred snorted. "I hardly think she looks okay. Look, Ron, you scared her away with your de-virginizing ways!"

Harry glared at the Weasleys.

Squatting down next to Hermione, he helped her fold her panties and place them at one corner of the roll case.

"Where are you going?" he asked.

George sat on Hermione's bed while Fred took her desk chair and Ron lounged against her closet door.

"Away," Hermione replied.

"Running doesn't solve anything, 'Mione," said George from where he was.

Hermione looked up at her friend. "I'm not running away."

"Then why are you packing?" asked Harry.

Hermione looked back down at the bra she was folding and fell lightly on her bum, before crossing her legs and hugging herself.

"They were right you know," she whispered, barely heard but understood by the men in the room.

"They weren't, they went too far in their teasing of you," snapped Ron. "And they weren't teasing lightly, either, especially that last comment about you being a virgin!"

Ron hesitated before going, "… you're not, right?"

"Ron!" George and Fred admonished.

"I am," replied Hermione evenly.

Harry gaped. "You mean… when you and Viktor got back together… you never… the two of you didn't….?"

"Fuck, I believe, is the word you are looking for, Harry," replied Hermione, flashing the stunned Boy-Who-Lived a tiny smile.

Harry turned red and squeaked, "Hermione!"

"What?" asked Hermione loudly, turning to face her friend and scrambling to her feet. "I can't say 'fuck' now? I bet I can't say 'shit,' 'wanker,' 'bitch,' 'ho,' 'cunt,' and 'penis' either, right?"

Ron and Harry were blushing red and the Twins were staring at her.

Hermione sighed. "I _can_ curse. And they _were_ right, despite how harsh they were. My hair is a rat's nest, my complexion is splotchy and I dress like Madam Prince."

"You… you do not," stated George finally.

"I do!"

"No, you don't," snorted Fred, "You look more like Arabella Figg."

Hermione sneered at him. "Thanks, Fred."

He shrugged helplessly.

"Look, guys… my life sucks. I had to leave the first night I went out in two months early because I had to work the next morning. I have no social life, I haven't dated anyone since Viktor and I split nearly two years ago, right after the war, and I'm lonely, okay?

"I want to have fun in life. I have a boring job that I can't stand and I was Hogwarts' Head Girl, top of _every single one of my classes_, and I'm rebinding books for a living." Hermione sighed.

"So what are you going to do?" asked Harry quietly, standing and facing Hermione.

Hermione looked around her flat and, for the first time since she bought it, really looked at it.

There was her bed and desk, but all her books were still packed away in boxes stacked next to her desk, unopened. She had a simple quilt and bedspread, but no pictures or knickknacks around the room saying it was hers. Even the living room and kitchen looks the same.

It looked unlived, and at that very moment, Hermione felt unlived.

"I think," The woman said slowly, "that I'm going to take a vacation."

--

Bright and early the next morning, Hermione was standing with the same men from last night, in a small circle as she held her train ticket. They were near Platform 3, waiting for her train to Spain to announce that passengers were to board as a final call.

"You're sure about this?" asked Ron, one last time. "No Owls, no magic, just going on a vacation as a simple Muggle?"

"Yes."

Hermione was sure. She deserved this. While looking for Horcruxes, the Trio had traveled all over England and Hermione was privileged to travel during her summer and winter vacations with her parents, but she had never gone anywhere by herself, or to Spain.

"You have my mobile number in case you need help, right?" asked Harry, pushing his glasses up his nose nervously.

"Yes."

"You'll take lots of pictures and get us souvenirs?" George and Fred were rubbing their hands together.

"Yes, that too," laughed Hermione.

"And you've sent in a letter to your boss at Flourish and Blotts that you've quit?" Ron asked, wringing his hands together.

"Yes," smiled Hermione.

Harry sighed. "Well… then you'd best go. But if we don't hear from you when you get there, I'm going to track you down personally!"

Hermione teased, "yes, Mother!"

"_Train 15-156 to Valencia, Spain is now boarding. This is the final boarding call for Train 15-156 to Valencia, Spain."_

Hermione hugged Ron, George, Fred and Harry goodbye, took a deep breath, and stepped onto the train. She found a compartment and opened the window to lean out and wave at them.

Blowing kisses, she called, "I'll call when I'm settled in! See you!"

The men waved back and Hermione lost her balance slightly as the train lunged forward and began to pick up speed. The men were soon a speck in the distance and then disappeared completely as the platform disappeared from view.

Hermione was alone for the first time in her life, without her best friends, friends and parents.

It was scary. It was exhilarating.

And she didn't speak a word of Spanish.

Deciding that was the first thing to do, she pulled out her Spanish-English dictionary, and began to memorize words.

However, it was near midnight when she felt the familiar sensation in her lower regions and bit her lip.

Looking up from her book and her backpack, Hermione gathered everything, slipped her book into the bag and left her compartment, looking up and down the hallway.

She needed to find a loo. Badly.

Picking one direction and starting off, Hermione politely asked the first person she came across to where the bathroom was. The man pointed her in general direction she was heading in and told her she couldn't miss it. Thanking him, and grateful, because her bladder was screaming at her to release it, she walked quickly to the bathroom and yanked open the door.

And froze.

A young man, near her age or just older than her, was sitting on the lowered toilet seat, his head thrown back. His black wavy locks were slightly damp and one curled over his closed eyes. He had a tanned complexion, one that was natural, and a lean but toned body. His button-up green shirt was rumpled and slightly unbuttoned, but his gray slacks were pooled at the bottom of his ankles.

One hand was gripping the sink edge tightly while the other was wrapped around his cock and moving up and down rapidly.

Murmuring under his breath – in what Hermione could only guess what Spanish or Italian – the young man then bit his lip and his body began to tense.

Hermione quickly but quietly closed the door and leaned against the wall, her heart pounding and her breath coming out in quick, erratic pants. She was sweating and her nerves were racing and she was sure her pupils were dilated.

Biting her own lip, Hermione made her way back to her compartment, her needs to pee forgotten.

When she told Harry and her friends that she wanted a vacation, one that wasn't boring like her ex-job at Flourish and Blotts, she hadn't expected it would start with her walking into the loo to see a really gorgeous man wank off.

Grinning as she sat down on her seat, Hermione laughed lightly.

Boy, would she have a story to tell when she came back!

--

**AN: oct.12.05**

I know I haven't updated any of my other stories – primarily S&C and BSI – but considering this is the first, 'real' chapter to _anything_ that I've written in almost two years, I think I should be patting myself on my back for it.

None of my stories are abandoned. If they are abandoned, you'd know, or I'd take them off. I intend to finish them, whether it's done within the next school year while I'm at university, or when I'm twenty-four. They'll be done.

Hope you enjoyed this! Hopefully the next part will be out soon. Cookies go to anyone who figures out where Hermione will be vacationing. No, it is not Valencia, but it is somewhere under Spanish rule, still exists, and is currently where I would like to vacation. There was a hint in the story, near the VERY beginning. grins


	2. Say Hello 02

Say Hello

Kneazle

Summary: Post-Hogwarts; Hermione is labeled a Bookworm and it just Won't Go Away. She decides to show she's more than a one-dimensional character. While she's out finding herself, she learns a little more about the world and love.

AN: "Say Hello" belongs to Deep Dish, "Dark Side of the Moon" belongs to Ernesto and Bastian.

----

_Try a run, try a hide  
Escape your only truth, for a while  
Live the past, create a picture, it won't last  
A million colours to a lie, it won't last_

– Ernesto vs. Bastian, "Dark Side of the Moon"

----

**Chapter Two**

Hours later, Hermione found herself in the Dinning Car, her eyes skimming the various delich meals that were offered. Although, she wasn't going to eat the lobster, due to an allergic reaction, the angel hair pasta sounded quite yummy.

Glancing up as a waiter came by to ask what she preferred, Hermione murmured a quick, "Just a glass of water for now, I still need more time to decide," before her eyes glanced around the car.

At 6 o'clock, it was prime time for dinner. There was barely a seat taken, except for the one across from Hermione; and that was occupied by her book bag (she had a few copies of not-yet-released books that were given to Flourish and Blotts. It was Harry who convinced her to nick a few, and he said that should she get in trouble, he'd take the fire. After all, who'd want to piss off the Boy-Who-Defied-Mortality-and-Killed-the-Ugly-One?).

As such, the car was fairly crowded and she didn't notice the latest newcomer until he was nearly upon her, and asking in a chocolate sauce smooth voice, "May I sit here?"

Lifting her eyes from the menu, Hermione allowed herself the pleasure of blatantly looking at the man standing near her. Tall, oh definitely, with high quality gray slacks, with a green button-up shirt…

_Oh. My. God,_ thought Hermione. _It's Masturbation Man._

Flashing her best, publicity winning smile, Hermione removed her bag from the seat and said, "Of course."

The young man nodded his thanks and sat down, pulling his slacks up at his knees as he did so. He picked up another menu from a tray at the far left of the table, near the window, and began to read.

Hermione, on the other hand, was having a very hard time containing her giggles and blush. Unfortunately, if she managed to let one tiny "hee, hee" escape, he would inquire as to why, and she couldn't go about saying she saw him wank off, could she? It doesn't do for polite conversation.

Again, the waiter returned with her water and seemed unsurprised at her new guest. "And what would signore wish to eat?"

"The chicken alfredo, _per favore_."

"And signora?"

Hermione bit her lip and closed her eyes. Twirling her finger around in the air above the menu, she plopped it down and looked. "Aha! The bruschetta and chicken breast for me, please."

"Very well," the waiter agreed, leaving the two in silence.

Hermione smoothed out her shirt and pants of wrinkles; she rested her head in her hand; she tried counting the passing sheep (there weren't any), before she finally began tapping her fingernails on the tabletop.

"Really, Granger, that is fairly annoying."

Hermione's fingers stopped drumming the table in surprise. Her eyes wide, Hermione looked at the well-groomed, horny man across from her.

"Excuse me?" she squeaked.

"Granger, you heard me the first time," the man sighed. Hermione studied him; he knew her, so she obviously had to know him.

He had the typical, classic pureblood face with high cheekbones, split apart by a narrow, long nose; not too full or too thin lips (Hermione called them kissable lips – George had them too, and oh my, were they quite kissable, George's, not this new man) and a pair of aqua-coloured eyes that were slightly hooded under a well-defined brow. His dark brown hair was tousled (_from what_, she wondered wickedly) and had a boyish wave attached.

"I'm afraid you _do_ look familiar, but I can't seem to place you," Hermione finally admitted.

The man snorted lightly. "It figures."

Hermione blinked. "Excuse me?" she repeated herself. Hermione barely glanced at the waiter when he placed a glass of red wine in front of the man and a Fanta in front of her.

The man lifted his glass and swirled the liquid around before watching her from the rim of his glass. "Come on, Granger, everyone said you were smart; I know that for a fact myself as you beat me every year for the highest grades at Hogwarts."

"Oh."

Hermione frowned and tried her hardest to think of everyone she knew in her year. "You know," she said absently, "you could make this a trifle easier on me if you'd just tell me your name."

The man smiled a very white, toothy grin. "It's more fun this way."

Pouting slightly, Hermione continued through her repertoire of Hogwarts alumni. Clearly he wasn't a Gryffindor, she knew them all intimately, due to Harry and Ron; and he most certainly wasn't part of the D.A., as she had been a large part of that too. She knew he seemed… well, vaguely familiar, but his name was completely eluding her.

Sighing, Hermione shrugged. "I give. Who are you?"

The man smirked. "Pity; I had hoped that this game would continue." He reached across the table, his hand open and waiting for her to take it. "Blaise Zabini."

Hermione shook his hand firmly, yet delicately, and smiled slightly back. "_Now_ I remember, of course." Her eyes crinkled in the corners a bit as she continued, taking back her hand. "Whatever did you do after the War? You practically disappeared off the face of Britain, and not even a letter to any of your old classmates."

"How would you know?" asked Blaise, his eyebrows raised.

Hermione grinned. "You'd be amazed what Theodore Nott will say when he wants a book bad enough that he knows I have, and is drunk."

Blaise leaned back in his seat, stretching the leg on the outside of the table out. "My, my, Granger, did you get around with the Hogwarts men or what?"

Scowling, Hermione wrinkled her nose and took a sip of her Fanta. "I resent that, Zabini. I'll have you know that I only dated two men in my life, and kissed only three."

Blaise threw back his head and laughed; it was full, creamy and oh-so-yummy that Hermione was inwardly salivating at the thought of eating him up.

"Three, Granger? You kissed only three?"

Hermione frowned. "It's not funny."

Blaise continued to laugh.

"Honestly," Hermione finally snapped, "I bet _you've_ managed to worm your way into many women's pants, Mr. Stud Muffin!"

Blaise immediately sobered and scowled back at Hermione. "Don't call me Stud Muffin, that's not funny, Granger."

"Sorry," replied Hermione petulantly, and she really didn't mean it.

The two were silent, and in that time the waiter returned with their meal. Hermione decided to savour it, never having much of a chance to eat Italian or Spanish delicacies, and pulled out of the rare books from her bag to read in the meantime.

"Didn't anyone ever tell you it's rude to read at the table?" Blaise's voice carried over her book, and Hermione rolled her eyes, glad he couldn't see.

"All the time," she replied back saucily. _GOD!_ She thought. _Where did this tiger come from? I'm this shy little bookworm, double-u, tee, eff!_

She heard Blaise huff and could imagine him crossing his arms. She vaguely noticed him pulling his leg back toward him and under the table.

Soon, as the meals' contents slowly disappeared, the meal was finished off entirely. Blaise and Hermione had not said another word, and once the waiter had removed their dishes, Hermione tucked her book away and was currently looking out the window at the changing countryside, and darkening skies.

Blaise was swirling the remnants of his wine around, staring into the glass.

"Venice," he finally said, shocking Hermione and making her jolt.

"Pardon me?" she asked.

Blaise looked up from the glass and straight into Hermione's eyes. She nearly swooned. "I was in Venice, after the war, as an accountant for my father's company. That was what you asked, right?"

Hermione blinked. She hadn't really figured that he would reply, considering how silent they had been the past hour or so. "Yeah," she said dumbly. "Venice. Nice."

Blaise smirked, knowing he had offset her, and leaned forward, his elbows on the table. Hermione mentally sneered and wondered if he liked playing mind games by creating intimacy when leaning in to her like that.

"What did you do after the war?" he asked, almost causally.

Hermione blushed.

Blaise's eyes widened. "No way, you and Weasley fucked and he got you knocked up, didn't he?"

Hermione's mouth dropped open and she shrieked, "_What?"_ in a very high-pitched voice.

Blaise looked slightly gleeful for a moment before falling to feigned disappointment, ignoring some of the glares of other passengers enjoying their desserts. "Oh, so he didn't?"

"I'll have you know," Hermione hissed, leaning close to him, barely inches apart, "I'll have you know, Mr. Zabini, that Ron and I are friends. In fact, along with Harry, we are _best_ friends."

"So you had a threesome? Cool."

Hermione felt a twitch coming along. "I have never, nor will ever, have sex with Ron Weasley, or Harry Potter. They are my brothers, despite none of us being related." Hermione paused. "Besides… I'm fairly sure Ron bats for the other team sometimes."

Blaise's jaw dropped. "No way. Serious?"

Hermione nodded. "There was that time in sixth year…"

Blaise leaned back, the aura of intimacy gone. "Merlin, Granger, you must have some serious stories to tell."

Hermione smiled, her eyes taking on a dreamy expression as she remembered the various adventures she and her friends got themselves into. "Yeah, yeah I do."

The two fell back into a companionable silence, watching as the sky continued to darken to a near blue-black, with stars twinkling and lights from far-away cities flashed as the train passed them by. Hermione finally yawned, bringing a hand up to cover her mouth.

"Well, it's late and I'm off to bed so I can get up early tomorrow," she said, standing and reaching under the table to retrieve her book bag. Blaise reached down instead and pulled it up for her, passing it over the table into her arms. "Thanks," she said, slightly surprised.

"Welcome," the young man replied. He stood as well, his eyes watching her every move. "Have a nice night, Granger."

Blinking, more surprised than ever now, Hermione nodded and smiled back, "You too, Zabini."

She hiked the bag up on her shoulder and was ready to pass when his hand wrapped around her bicep, large and manly compared to her petite arm. She glanced up at him, confused. "Yes?"

"Granger," he began, looking intently into her eyes, "I never had to worm my way into women's pants, they were always begging for it from me."

At her shocked expression, Blaise was deeply satisfied. He then leaned down and captured her lips quickly in a light, chaste kiss. He then opened his mouth to continue: "And you only need to ask, so I can be number four."

Hermione just snapped her mouth shut, glowered at him for a few seconds, then huffed, hiked her bag highly and walked smartly out of the Dinning Car.

--

The next morning, Hermione woke early, and, almost afraid to see Blaise Zabini in the Dinning Car for breakfast, Hermione opted to eat in her car instead, as she had for the past two days since that fateful evening.

Munching happily on a croissant and sipping orange juice, Hermione was practically bouncing as the passing countryside became more and more suburban and then townish. Valencia was beautiful: the tan buildings, the long, narrow streets… Hermione loved it all.

And she couldn't believe that she wasn't even done her traveling leg to reach her final destination yet.

The train pulled into the station, coming to a smooth stop. Hermione hiked her shoulder bag higher, and grabbed her Heys rolling case and walked out of the car, humming Hogwarts' school song.

The air was warm and humid as she stepped onto the outdoor platform, taking a deep breath. Now all she had to do was find her way to the Marina to catch the ferry leaving Valencia to the island of Ibiza.

Flagging down a taxi, Hermione did her best to explain what she wanted, and the cab driver happily agreed to take her to the Marina.

Within twenty minutes, in morning traffic on a Monday morning, Hermione arrived, paid the cabbie, and found the ferry that she need. She paid the odd sixty pounds for the fee, and settled near the bar of the high speed ferry, listening in as others laughed and drank in groups.

A group of five Australians on her right were shouting and laughing gaily, wooing and chuckling. "_Ibitha!"_ one raised his alcoholic drink to her and Hermione smiled thinly back.

"Ibiza," she replied, wavering slightly. As the group began to move toward her, Hermione felt an arm slip across her shoulders and tug her closer to the body.

Turning her head, Hermione was surprised to see Blaise Zabini glaring at the rowdy bunch. He was wearing khakis and another green button up with Muggle flip-flops for some odd reason, fitting in perfectly with the non-magical tourists.

"Zabini," deadpanned Hermione.

"Granger," he mimicked.

"Thanks."

He smiled, briefly, and kissed her temple while glancing back at the Australians. "You're welcome, _dear_."

"You really shouldn't have, _sweetie_," she cooed back, through her gritted teeth. Under her breath, turning her back to the rowdy men, she hissed, "I can take care of myself, thankyouverymuch!"

Blaise sighed, running a hand through his wavy hair. Hermione was sure hers was frizzing up in the humidity. "Look, Granger, it's a three-hour ferry ride across the Mediterranean to Ibiza. Can we just… lay off until then? I know you don't need protection, I'm sorry; I'm not Potter or Weasley, apparently."

Hermione frowned. "It's not because you're not Harry or Ron, who are overly protective of me… it's just I can take care of myself; if I couldn't, I would never have managed to help Harry with the Horcruxes or face Voldemort at the final battle."

Blaise stared straight ahead and sighed. "Yeah… right… look," he finally said, turning to her, "Just let me do this, okay? Please, Hermione?"

Looking into Blaise's eyes, Hermione had to wonder what he was up to. He was hot, drop-dead sexy in fact, a Slytherin with honest intentions, and they were verbally sparring two nights ago on the train and Hermione had been flustered and… dare she admit it, wet afterwards.

Nodding slowly, she agreed for his company and the two settled into another companionable silence, watching the horizon as they moved away from Valencia and, as the hours went by, closer and closer to Ibiza.

Just past the two-hour mark, Hermione got curious and asked what had been bothering her the past two nights.

"Why did you kiss me?"

Blaise looked up from a nicked book of Hermione's, and blinked in surprise before a gleam settled in his eyes.

_Uh, oh,_ though Hermione.

"Can't I just say that I wanted to and leave it at that?" he asked, with a tiny shrug.

"No, not really," replied Hermione. "You were a Slytherin, and once a Slytherin, always a Slytherin. You must have had some motive or means to want to kiss me."

Blaise placed the borrowed book down on his lap, giving Hermione his full attention. "Okay, you caught me."

Hermione perked up, with a 'really?' look on her face. "Oh?"

"Yeah," continued Blaise, "I wanted to prove to you that I'm a sexy man and I wanted to shock you."

Hermione's jaw dropped. "So you kissed me? To show me how you are the metaphorical steak that all women want?"

Blaise processed the analogy, then, pleased with it, nodded firmly. "Yep, that sounds right."

Gapping for a bit, Hermione finally found her voice and stuttered out, "You, you are incorrigible!"

Blaise raised a single, sexy eyebrow at Hermione and with a wicked grin, went, "Why, thank you, Hermione."

Sputtering incoherently, Hermione tried to find words to tell him to more politely and imaginatively "fuck off," but she was having a hard time concentrating. Finally, she twitched her nose and grabbed the book that was resting on Blaise's lap before snatching it back – but not without a well-aimed jab with the corner binding at a very sensitive place.

"Oof!" the Italian wizard exclaimed, leaning forward and closing his eyes tightly. "Merlin, Granger!"

Standing up with her shoulder bag and book in hand, Hermione glowered at Blaise and practically growled at him, "I hope you're happy."

"Immensely," he replied back with a grunt.

"Good," she sneered, "Because it'll never happen again!" She then walked away, to the front of the ferry, watching the ever-growing closer island.

Upset and confused, Hermione wondered exactly what type of game Blaise Zabini was playing with her; they had never been close during school, or during the final stages of the last battle, or afterwards. He cut off all his old friends and then suddenly, pops up for of nowhere, on the same train as her, to go to Ibiza, of all places.

Hermione, for the better part, had picked Ibiza because it was party central from June to September. She liked clubbing with her friends, but her jobs and her lack of confidence in her own body had kept her from having fun and going all garish.

Ibiza was the only place in Europe that had an entire Island dedicated to party-goers; dedicated to raving, to drugs, to alcohol and sex… and Hermione needed to just learn to _live_ and experience the craziness that was ensure for her one week stay.

After all, she didn't want to spend all summer at Ibiza, just enough to experience a little vacation and maybe do some soul searching during the day when she didn't want to go to a party, considering Palace was open at 8am, while all other clubs closed.

But then Blaise Zabini appears; asks her about her life, tells her about his (albeit, briefly), and then protects her from some crazy Australians.

Why?

They never spoke during school, they never were in the same social circles before or after the war, and they were in separate houses at Hogwarts as well. They didn't have anything in common: he was a Slytherin, she a Gryffindor; he favoured Snape, she liked McGonagall; his favourite place was likely to be the Owlry, the dungeons, or the Slytherin common room – even possibly, the Quidditch Pitch, and hers was the library and Gryffindor common room. He was sexy and pure Italian; she was frumpy and delicate Briton. She was a bibliophile, and he was… well, she wasn't sure what he obsessed with, but it could possibly be wands or broomsticks after his spectacular display in the train loo.

So, Hermione was a bit perplexed, and she didn't like starting on a puzzle that she might not possibly solve… yet… she was going to Ibiza for vacation. It was a fairly small island, granted, but she wasn't likely to see much of Blaise, especially during high season like this; there were too many DJs, too many ravers, too many too much of everything else that would take away Blaise Zabini from her mind.

At least, she really hoped. She couldn't help it if she thought he was damn sexy, could she?

_What does he think about me? That I'm frumpy and geekish and dorky?_ She thought, frowning, leaning on the ferry rail, placing her head in her hand as she stared at the nearing port of San Antonio. She could even see the outline of the famed Café del Mar, known to be the best spot for sunsets on Ibiza – and the world, but she didn't hold much credit to that until she traveled the world. She heard Fiji, Tahiti and Bali had some nice sunsets as well...

Shaking her head slightly, Hermione stood up tall against the rail and crossed her arms. The sun was beating down on her skin, giving her fragile English skin a healthy glow – although she was sure that she'd need to put on much more sunscreen before she went out again – and the waves of the Mediterranean Sea were crashing up against the hull of the ferry, making it bob gently up and down.

Hermione took a deep breath of salty sea air, closed her eyes, and smiled.

She was going to Ibiza to learn to have fun; so that all those nasty words that Fleur, Angelina and Penelope – and even Molly – would be able to not rub against her the wrong way. Speaking of rubbing… perhaps Blaise could…?

_No!_ Hermione stopped. _I will not start thinking about Blaise Zabini right now. Or… at all. Ever. Period._

Ibiza was going to be Hermione's escape. There would be no Death Eater nightmares, or people who knew who she was by her witch status and helpful hand in the final war; there would not be anyone commenting on her hair or her complexion, as everyone else will be sweaty, wet, or on drugs so they'd think they were your best friend anyway.

Or so Hermione hoped.

Soon, the ferry's engines changed and they began to reverse slightly. An announcement in Spanish and English came on, and Hermione left the rail to gather her bags and wait in line behind the rowdy Australians. Blaise, she noted absently (not like she was deliberately trying to see where he was, really), was standing two couples behind her in line, his very expensive sunglasses perched on the end of his nose as he stared at the back of her fluffy head.

She knew he was staring, because she turned around and fixed him with a dirty glare, then decided to steadily ignore him when he did not cease to stare.

The line inched forward and Hermione was stood stepping lightly off the platform and onto Ibiza soil. She could hear the low end bass pumping steadily from high-end quality speakers, coming from near-by Cafés and outdoor patio restaurants; there were many people lounging on the beach – some women topless and others not – all within various states of inebriation, ranging from not drunk at all, to totally sloshed and on something else mixed in.

Trying her best to ignore Blaise who was now right behind her, Hermione stepped forward and tried to flag down a cab to take her to the other side of the island to Ibiza Town (a.k.a. Eivissa), and to where her hotel, Hotel Victoria, was located.

It was close to Paccha, Space, and other nightclubs, and close to the town center so she could go shopping along the street, or just sit at a café. She was hoping to meet up and make some new friends so she wouldn't be all alone, but… it was about the music and herself, so Hermione was allowing herself to be slightly selfish in the week that she was staying in Ibiza.

Unfortunately for Hermione, no cab was stopping, and the three that were sitting parked next to the curb were the ones she was warned against because of high prices; while she had been musing, the other ferry passengers had snagged the cabs and left her – and Blaise – behind.

Hermione huffed and scuffed the toe of her shoe, and placed her hands on her hips. _Now_ what was she going to do?

"Oh, don't be so upset, Granger, there will be another taxi," smirked Blaise as he came around to stand next to her, and mimic her pose. "I hope you aren't getting your knickers in a twist about this."

"About what?" Hermione asked, slightly curious against her will.

"Why," charmed Blaise, flashing his pearly whites, "by being stuck with me, because I happen to need a taxi to Eivissa myself, and it looks, from your very detailed itinerary, that you will be going there too."

"Excuse me?" blinked Hermione, "How did you know where I was going?"

Blaise leaned forward and whispered, "You know that book I was reading from your shoulder bag?"

Hermione nodded.

"It was your day planner."

Hermione felt the colour drain from her face. Her day planner had been a gift for her birthday from Ginny – and it wasn't only a day planner; Hermione had, surprisingly, the bad habit of writing things down all over the place on loose pieces of paper and lost lots of valuable notes during school like that. So, Ginny had got her a day planner slash diary slash calendar slash notebook.

Hermione used it religiously.

Including since she got on the train.

Meaning…

_Blaise had read her entry on his loo experience!_

Shit.

"Granger, really, I had no idea that you wanted to catch me all these years with my pants down."

Hermione's face burned red.

"All you had to do was ask."

Hermione was now Weasley red. And she couldn't even form a proper retort, she was just completely stuck on the fact that she had been caught out and she was blushing. In front of a very gorgeous, sexy man who liked to tease – no, scratch that, torment – her.

As she was thinking up a proper reply to a very smug looking Blaise Zabini, another taxi pulled up to the curb and she jumped in, slamming the door behind her before Zabini could come closer.

"Blaise Zabini," said Hermione with force, "You have never got my knickers in a twist and never will! I have never wanted to catch you with your pants down or wanking off, and I assure you, it will never happen again!"

Blaise leaned forward, bracing his forearm against the top of the taxi, his mouth tantalizingly close to Hermione's ear as he breathed, "Oh, you may never want to **see** me do that again, _Hermione_, but I assure you, I know intimately what you've been thinking since that night. After all, I did read your private thoughts."

Hermione blushed again and drew up her best Malfoy-sneer impression. "Yeah… well… so!"

And with that, she stuck her tongue out at him, turned to the taxi driver and commanded, "Eivissa, _por favor_!"

She blushed the entire way to Ibiza Town.

----

**AN:** Dec.16.05 Well, the next installment of 'Say Hello,' which I hope makes up for my lack of updating. Midterm exams are quite stressful, and I haven't been happy writing as a Professor I've been trying to win over has recently said that my writing has no 'zing,' in it. Considering I wrote a formal paper, I don't see how I can make my personal style transmit onto that paper, but oh well.

Merry Christmas, Happy Chanukah, Kwanza, holidays in general.

**PS:** Still no word on _Skulls & Crossbones_ or _BSI_ to be written more. My muse has dried up in those areas, but I will come back to them at another time during the holidays, to add more wherever possible.

**PPS:** Any mistakes made about Ibiza -- about hotels, locations of clubs, are entirely my fault and are to be considered artistic license. I've yet to be there, and looking at various webpages is the best I've done so far. And still no DJ list of the 2001 year.


	3. Say Hello 03

Say Hello

Kneazle

Summary: Post-Hogwarts; Hermione is labeled a Bookworm and it just Won't Go Away. She decides to show she's more than a one-dimensional character. While she's out finding herself, she learns a little more about the world and love.

AN: Deep Dish owns "Say Hello"; "Dark Side of the Moon" belongs to Ernesto and Bastian; Rachael Starr owns, with remix rights to G&D "'Til There Was You (Gabriel & Dresden's 12 Step Remix)". Reflekt and Agnelli & Nelson and whoever their record label companies are, own their own tracks.

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**AN: If interested, please listen to Rachael Starr's "Till There Was You," and Jose Nunez's "Bilingual." They help set the music and mood for the chapter. WARNING: Nunez's vocals are very NC-17.**

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_Fate can act in a curious way   
When all that mattered means nothing today  
All that concerns me, that drenches my thoughts  
Is the sensation that seeing you brought_

– Rachael Starr, "'Til There Was You (Gabriel & Dresden's 12 Step Remix)"

----

**Chapter Three**

Hermione thought about Blaise Zabini the whole way to hotel. She thought about him as she entered the hotel's lobby, through gaining her room key, and through putting her clothes away.

In fact, Hermione couldn't _escape_ Blaise Zabini; it was as if he was right beside her, breathing into her ear, teasing her with his witty words, running his hands up and down her arms, making her panties wet…

Hermione's eyes popped open. _What? Me, wet… from Blaise Zabini?_ Hermione wondered, horrorstruck. The girl who was a virgin, who never really pleasured herself (she was far too busy with other academic pursuits and her job and Harry and horcruxes and then there was George making those passes at her…), was having dirty and nasty thoughts about Blaise Zabini…

And she really, really liked it.

_In fact_, Hermione thought while fighting a blush, if she would admit it to herself, Hermione quite enjoyed the idea of Blaise Zabini and her.

Like, Blaise Zabini lying on her queen sized bed, his tie wrapped around his head to block his eyes. Like, Blaise Zabini with his shirt unbuttoned and jacket off, his pants rumbled and pulling up around his calves. Like, Blaise Zabini panting and gasping for air as Hermione ran her nails gently down his chest, brushing the light dusting of dark hair covering his torso. Like, Hermione leaning close and blowing into his ear and hearing him call out in agony, "_Hermione…"_

Hermione stopped immediately, her face a violent shade of pink, all hot and bothered. What she needed was a dip in the hotel's pool. Yes, that was exactly what she needed; to be cooled off without any more thoughts of Blaise Zabini.

Naked. And on top of her. And sucking on her neck and biting near her collarbone and –

God damnit, she did it again.

"Pool. I need the pool," muttered Hermione, digging through her piles of clothes. She had, unknowingly, thrown them all over the room during her fantasy.

Grabbing the first flimsy pieces of a bathing suit that she could find, Hermione nearly grimaced, but dutifully went to her bathroom to change. Leave it to the Weasley twins to transfigure her modest one-piece suits into daringly sexy black or white or playful polka-dot bikins with high cuts and bows and strings.

Groaning, Hermione rubbed her temples but striped of her clothes and pulled on and laced up the ultra-feminine and ultra-sexy two-piece suit. Peaking through one eye, Hermione was surprised at her reflection.

She was _gorgeous_.

Okay, well, honestly – she wasn't. But she looked a heck of a lot better than she normally did in her sweaters and jeans. She had hips! And breasts! And a flat tummy!

But that little two-piece black bikini was doing wonders for her ego. Hermione had never really gone out of her way to wear the fashionably hip and stylish clothes like Parvati, Lavender or Ginny did; she wore what was comfortable and what she liked. Only now, Hermione realized that she did actually have a figure and was going to damn-well flaunt it.

After all, she was in Ibiza, who the hell cared?

Grabbing her tote bag with the hotel rooms' white, fluffy towel, popular oversized sunglasses, a book (of course), room key and her sunscreen, Hermione slipped her feet into her wedge sandals and locked her door behind her. She was humming as she walked down the stairs, and continued to hum even as she claimed a chaise and laid her towel on it. She was only two pages in her book when a shadow fell over her.

Raising her head, and lifting her fashionable sunglasses from her nose (they had been a gift from Ginny two years previous), Hermione moaned, "Oh, no, not you again."

"But of course," murmured cheekily the Italian standing next to her. "Fancy seeing you at _my_ hotel, Granger; what did you do, follow me?"

"Zabini, kindly shut the fuck up," retorted Hermione, pushing her sunglasses back down. This way, Blaise couldn't see her eyeing him greedily. He looked _very_ sexy in his drawstring board shorts. Who knew he could wear such fashionable Muggle attire? "Besides, _you_ followed _me_; I took a taxi before you."

Dropping down to the free lounger beside Hermione, Blaise stretched and Hermione ogled his abs. _Six pack._ _Yum_.

Turning his head to face her, Blaise gave a roguish smirk and brushed some curls from his eyes. "Now, now, Granger, didn't your parents ever tell you it's impolite to stare?"

"I'm certainly not staring, Zabini," huffed Hermione, crossing her arms. She put down her book and began searching her bag for her sunscreen. "I'm sunbathing and enjoying the sun."

"You'll be too tired to go out later, if you stay out here long," said Blaise, almost gently. "Don't you want to go to one of the clubs tonight?"

Hermione nodded, finding her sunscreen and pulling it out. "Of course! I don't know which I'd like to go to, though… I've heard so many different things about each club."

Hermione popped open the cap of her sunscreen and squeezed out a bit onto her hand. She started lathing up her legs and arms.

"I'd suggest Pacha; it's really nice for a first time. I'd suggest on your last day to go to Manumission at Privilege, though. Huge, they throw the best parties there. Fire eaters, aerobatics, the works," Blaise took the discarded sunscreen and motioned for Hermione to turn around. "I'll do your back."

Eyeing him warily, Hermione raised a single eyebrow. "You'll 'do my back'?"

Blaise sighed, opening the sunscreen and oozing out some lotion. "Look, I know we didn't exactly have the best first impressions on each other…"

"You can say that again!" snapped Hermione, her cheeks turning red from embarrassment.

"… but well, I'd like to try. We know each other, and I've been here before with my cousin and her husband."

"Just what are you getting at, _Blaise_?"

Hermione was confused; Blaise and she just didn't really mix, and now he was being friendly. Granted, they had shared witty remarks back on the ferry and they were almost pleasant on the train… So what was going on? Really?

Blaise ran one of his hands through his curly hair, chewing on his lower lip for a second before composing himself. He looked straight into her eyes and said, "I want to get to know you, and to be your friend."

Hermione was shocked. This wasn't something she had been expecting. Especially from Blaise Zabini, Slytherin! But, as she thought about their few encounters and realized that Blaise had never deliberately been cruel or mocking, Hermione thought she might be able to give him a chance. Possibly. With a cherry, but after thinking that, it led to a many great naughty thoughts about Blaise popping her cherry and strawberries and pineapples and whipped cream covering Blaise's nipples as she flicked her tongue and licked and nibbled her way down…

Blushing, Hermione quickly turned so that her back was facing Blaise, and asked in what she hoped was a very casual voice, "So you've been here before with your cousin and her husband?"

Although she couldn't see it, Blaise nodded and squeezed some white lotion into the palm of his left hand. "Yeah, she's a half blood, and her husband is a DJ in London. He's not really big, but big enough that he knew some people who gave him a few press passes to Ibiza last year."

"You went after the war?"

Hermione nearly jumped when she felt the cold lotion hit her shoulder.

"Easy," murmured Blaise as he abandoned his chaise to join her on hers. He cleared his throat and continued. "Just near the end of it. As you already said, I didn't take part in the war and left England quite happily."

"I see," replied Hermione, although she really didn't. What kind of person did that say about him? That he left his country of residence to those who could easily have won the war and taken over England before moving to other magical communities in the rest of Europe? Was Blaise a coward?

As if he were reading her thoughts, Blaise spoke: "I left England because it was not my war. I could have easily picked a side and died on either one: I heard that you lost quite a few friends."

Hermione frowned, moving her hair away from the shoulder Blaise was lotion-ing up. She stared directly into his eyes. "You still left."

"I did," he admitted, pausing in his ministrations. "But I wasn't a coward, Hermione."

"How so?" she challenged.

He leaned forward and a tiny smirk appeared on his lips. Hermione felt a flutter in her stomach blossom. "Ever heard of MI6?"

"Y-Yes," she stuttered. "Who hasn't?"

Blaise grinned, kissing her ear lobe gently, scraping it slightly with his teeth as he sucked. "The name is Zabini… Blaise Zabini."

"Oh, my, _God_!"

Blaise Zabini was an agent for MI6 – no _wonder_ he wasn't involved in their war, because he was gathering external intelligence about the Death Eaters and the Order, and reporting back to his superiors.

"You're joking," Hermione tried to sputter out. "Surely you aren't serious!"

"Completely," he responded dryly. "I'm currently on a leave of absence, enjoying a vacation."

"Oh?" asked Hermione, petulantly. "Are you sure? Because I better not be your next mission, Zabini!" She glared at him hotly, twisting around to face him directly.

Blaise stretched out his arms, blocking in Hermione and leaning forward, invading her personal space, until she was lying down on the chaise, Blaise almost covering her.

"The only mission that I have that involves you, Hermione," purred Blaise, "is the one where you and I end up in my bed."

Mouth open, Hermione thought of a witty reply, while ignoring the increasing sensation of butterflies in her stomach and the throbbing that was beginning in her sex.

_Why, oh why, did Blaise Zabini have to be so Goddamn sexy?_ Hermione inwardly whined. _It just isn't fair._

"Meep," came out of her mouth, instead of a very smart "Get off me, you big oaf, how _dare_ you preposition me with such ludicrous and improper words?"

"Meep, right back to you Hermione," Blaise said softly, gently kissing her lips. He was then suddenly off her; the Spanish sun was blazing into Hermione's sunglasses and a thin sheen of sweat glistened.

"I… I…" Hermione was at a loss for words, and refused to embarrass herself with another 'meep.'

Blaise solved that for her. "Come out with me tonight."

"_What?"_

"Come out with me tonight," repeated Blaise. "To Pacha," he clarified.

"You want me," Hermione pointed to herself, then him, "To go with you, to Pacha nightclub?"

"Yes."

"And you won't put something in my drink, like the date rape drug?"

"Honestly, Granger, what type of man do you take me for?!"

"And you won't use your wand on me at all, unless my life or yours is in mortal peril?"

"Yes, Granger."

"And you won't try to take advantage of me, being a lonely twenty-something female on vacation by herself?"

"Now… that I can't promise…."

"_Promise me, Zabini_!"

"All right, all right," Blaise sighed, moving his right hand out of her eyesight, and then crossed his fingers. "I promise."

Hermione sighed in relief. "Okay, I'll join you clubbing tonight."

Blaise's smile lit up his whole face, and Hermione felt the air leave her chest as she just realized how gorgeous and sweet he really was; he was taking care of her while on vacation, and making sure she wasn't lonely. They hadn't argued too fiercely, or pulled their wands on each other, and he hadn't called her 'mudblood.' Hermione could see their vacation friendship working.

"We'll meet at ten tonight, in the hotel lobby?" confirmed Blaise. "We'll take a taxi to Pacha, or walk, if you prefer."

"Are there long lineups?" asked Hermione, lowering her sunglasses to look at Blaise properly.

"Sometimes," he answered. "I think we'll get in easily enough."

Hermione rolled her eyes, but nodded. "Okay. Ten it is."

--

At ten to ten, Hermione was waiting downstairs in the main lobby. She wasn't sure what she was supposed to wear when going out clubbing, as she normally wore jeans and a pretty tank top in London… but this wasn't London. This was Ibiza: clubbing Central. The place where the big-name DJs got together and played twenty-four/seven, non-stop from May until September, throughout the summer season.

So, Hermione wore a knee-length skirt and a pretty tank top, dressing up slightly more than she would usually, hoping to impress Blaise.

Well, more than hope. She kept having dirty thoughts about him all day and even dreamed about him when she took a nap out by the pool later that afternoon. At his rate, she'd be horny and tanned when returning to England, and unfortunately, right back where she started.

Just, tanned. And not so pale.

But still a virgin, still lonely, and still without a delich boyfriend to protect her from the Weasley matrons.

Hermione really needed to rectify that, and soon.

"Hello there," murmured Blaise, stepping up to Hermione. She had been so lost in her thoughts she didn't notice him coming down the lobby stairs or making his way toward her.

"Hello,' she murmured back, suddenly shy and nervous. It was silly – it was just Blaise Zabini, who she happened to see wank off one day, who she thought was gorgeous and sexy and hot and oh my god, what was he wearing?

"What are you _wearing_?" Hermione blurted out loud. Or rather, she should have said: "What are you _not_ wearing?"

Blaise wore a pair of baggy black shorts, and a very clean, tight, white tank top that molded itself to his muscles.

_Oh, yum._

_Oh, yummy yum, yum, indeed_.

Blaise looked down at his clothing and then hers, and frowned. "I'm wearing shorts and a tank. There's noting wrong with wearing that. But you on the other hand –"

Hermione bristled defensively, and smoothed a hand over her skirt. "What? What's wrong with it?"

Blaise sighed, reached for her hand, and said, "Let's go back to your room for a bit first. What room are you in?"

"I'm staying in room 156," said Hermione, allowing Blaise to tug her back up the lobby steps. "Is there something wrong in what I'm wearing, Blaise?"

"You look like you're going to take your pet dog for a walk through Hyde Park," muttered Blaise. He glanced over her Ked sneakers as well, with a snort. "Don't you have anything… well… sexier?"

Hermione blushed. "Excuse me!"

They neared Hermione's room, and Blaise took complete control over the situation, reaching into her purse and pulling out her room key; he then pushed Hermione gently inside her room and tossed her the key, while going through her clothes.

"Hey! What do you think you're doing!" snapped Hermione, while he looked through her bras and panties.

"I'm looking for something for you to wear!" the man countered.

"In my _knickers drawer_?" asked a stunned Hermione, reaching forward and snatching a lime green bra out of Blaise's tanned hand.

"Yes."

The two glared at each other, before Hermione sat on her bed, kicked off her shoes, and admitted defeat. Blaise had free run of her wardrobe for that evening.

He quickly found something that he liked, and shoved the clothing to her, telling her to put on what was in that pile and take off what she wore currently.

Without saying anything, Hermione entered the bathroom, changed, and stepped out, all without looking in the mirror.

It seemed to be worth it though, when Blaise stood up from her bed, his jaw slack and his eyes wide. The strappy stilettos he held in his right hand were dangling precariously, almost ready to fall to the floor. He took a leisurely pursue from her painted toenails to her sleek and straight hair.

"You look… phenomenal!" Blaise whispered, stepping close and handing her the stilettos.

"Thank you," Hermione smiled shyly, slipping her feet into the stilettos and buckling them up. "Is this better club wear?"

_YES!_ Blaise wanted to shout. Instead, he just swallowed thickly and nodded. Hermione wore the dark blue halter top he found in her drawer, with a short light denim miniskirt. Airy and open, both articles of clothing were club-appropriate in the warm climate of Ibiza, and were considered modest. Most women just wore bikini tops or nothing at all, when going out clubbing.

"Er… it's suitable," Blaise said instead, motioning Hermione to lead the way. "After you, Miss Granger."

Hermione nodded, holding her room key. "I'm afraid that I will need to ask you to hold onto my room key, Blaise. Or should I leave it at the front desk?"

"Front desk," the man replied, placing his hand softly against the small of her back.

Walking down the hallway, stairs and through the lobby, Blaise never removed his hand, even when flagging down a taxi. He ushered her into the car, holding her hand as she moved to sit. He was the perfect gentleman in every sense of the term.

Pacha was busy when they arrive; the club had a long line already stretching past the length of the club and toward the cafés that lined the streets nearby. Drunken laughter echoed in the line, with glitzy girls and handsome men dressed in their clubbing best. Limos purred up to the two open doors of the club, where bouncers checked the various VIPs who entered. Girls screamed familiar names ("Oh my God, _Josh Gabriel_!" "It's Lee Combs!" "There's Shiloh! I want your babies!"), as the producers and DJs arrived, and the men tried to act unimpressed but failed.

Blaise moved Hermione toward the bouncers, instead of the end of the line, confident and brisk in his walk.

"Blaise, what are you doing? We need to get in line!"

Blaise just shot Hermione a sultry smirk over his shoulder, his hand planted firmly on the small of her back while forcing her to step up next to him. "Nothing to worry about," he stated, talking loudly over the heavy bass that flowed out of the club. Synthesized notes floated out onto the street, and the flashes of blue, green and red lights could periodically glimpsed through the doors.

"What?" asked Hermione confused.

But Blaise did not stop – and when they reached the bouncer, he just looked Blaise over (who gave a small nod to the tall, heavy-set man), and the bouncer motioned them through.

Flabbergasted, Hermione followed Blaise past coat check and straight into the club.

Without speaking, Blaise touched Hermione's shoulder gently, caught her eyes, and laced his fingers through hers. He then led her to the center of the dance floor, in the middle of a thick crowd of sweaty, pulsating bodies, while the music swam around them.

He kept his eyes on Hermione's chocolate-coloured ones, moving gracefully to the heavy beat. Hermione did her best to mimic, but felt inadequate next to Blaise, the gorgeous Italian who was drawing numerous stares.

"Don't think," he shouted to her, over the music. "Just dance!"

Hermione closed her eyes and breathed in, breathed out. She was serene, listening to the music and counting the beat.

_One, two, three four..._

_One, two, three four..._

She then began to sway, at each beat she swiveled her hips, brought her arms up above her head, and her upper body was moving in circles.

_What in the world is a girl to do?  
When in this smoky place I only see you  
Was far away when you caught my eye  
you've brought me back and now you're making me high_

Hermione felt sexy and confident, proud and innocent all at the same time as she danced. She could feel Blaise's eyes on her, and wondered what he was thinking about. Opening her eyes, she caught his and held on, her gaze smoldering and sexy – but she didn't realize it.

Was Blaise thinking about how weird she must look, dancing so freely? She was thinking about how amazing he looked in his cut-off shorts, how toned and lean his calves were, how powerful his legs must be. Hermione was thinking about his beautiful aqua eyes, which were stuck on hers, and about his lips – and just what he could be doing to her with those lips of his…

Flushing, but not from embarrassment, Hermione held her gaze with Blaise, and began to imagine all the naughty things he could do to her.

She imagined him running his tanned, rough hands up from her calves to her thighs, dipping in slightly at her apex, before continuing up and skimming over her breast. She imagined those hands coming to rest on her cheeks, one slipping behind to cradle her head and sink his fingers in her thick hair.

She imagined his lips taking hers – without asking – and slipping his tongue inside her mouth, stroking, pleasuring, teasing her own tongue into a maddening state of frenzy and desire.

She imagined the hand that was on her cheek falling to her shoulder, stroking her collarbone lightly with feather-like touches, tingling her and making her shiver. She imagined that hand continuing with its feather-like touches by running up and down her arm, then gently cupping her breast, weighing it, palming it with great care.

_I was alone out there, with no one else around  
Now I've fallen for you, and there's no coming down _

Hermione imagined the hand pressing against her breast, fully now, squeezing and massaging, plucking at her nipple and causing the bud to become more erect than before. She imagined that hand falling away, his mouth wrenched from her own, blazing a fiery, hot path down her neck, across her collarbone, her shoulders, to her breasts, where he'd lave attention to her nipple through her halter top, sucking and leaving a damp spot when he left the area.

She imagined that mouth and deliciously capable tongue moving to her exposed midriff, licking and sucking at various spots and making her gasp with pleasure and desire and want and need and making her legs go weak like jelly while she wanted his attention just a little bit further south.

While thinking these naughty thoughts, and looking Blaise in the eye, Hermione surmised that they were projected toward the gorgeous man, as he was looking flushed and sweaty, his breaths coming out in deep gasps; his chest was rising and falling quickly, his aqua eyes the colour of stormy ocean waters.

_Want to get out of here, Blaise?_ Hermione thought. _You make me want you, since the moment I saw you. You made me want you, lying heavily on top of me, against me, while I spread my legs for you, while you slip inside my warmth and fuck me until I scream your name, over and over and over…_

Blaise swallowed heavily, his body moving closer to hers until they were chest to chest, stomach to stomach.

_Till there was you, I know what you're needing  
my thoughts are leading, me straight into your eyes  
what can I do? I'm looking right at you  
this feeling is all new, I want you addicted to me_

Hermione felt a hot spot against her stomach, and something else that seemed to be pulsating in time to the bass. His arms were tight against her, wrapping her and gyrating against her as they danced.

Hermione moved her arms and placed them around his neck, loosely hanging there while two fingers swirled a wayward lock of curly hair, teasingly, flutteringly.

Blaise's breath was hot against Hermione's cheek, while his hands slipped down to her bum and gave a gentle squeeze. He was panting heavily, not from the exertion of dancing, but because of something else. He must have been thinking the same thing as Hermione, because he leaned toward her ear, flicking out and licking the lobe.

Hermione gasped in pleasure.

"Want to get out of here?" he rasped.

Hermione looked up at him, almost flirtatiously, but Hermione Granger doesn't do flirty – she does sexy, so she looked up at him sexily and curled her lips into a small smile.

"I'd like that."

_I was alone out there, with no one else around  
Now I've fallen for you, and there's no coming down_

Hermione's back slammed against her hotel room door as Blaise caught her hands and placed them high above her head, his lips descending to hers quickly and aggressively. Her mouth opened wide and her tongue battled against his, stroking, exploring, sucking.

Blaise's body was heavy against hers, pushing his weight down on her lithe form to keep her from moving, her breasts crushed against his broad chest and his pelvis gyrating slowly, torturously against hers.

With a gasp, she broke away from Blaise, her eyes heavy-lidded as she felt around in his pocket for her room key, which he had retrieved from the front desk earlier. Instead, her fingers closed around a warm, hard item that twitched in response.

With a toss of her hair, Hermione glanced up at Blaise, who now had his head thrown back, panting heavily, with purr-like sounds coming from the back of his throat.

"Oh, Blaise," murmured Hermione heavily. "What do you have in here?"

"Not your bloody room key, Hermione," the man groaned out, as Hermione's cupped hand squeezed and began to move up and down, in a similar fashion as to what she saw that day he wanked off in the train lavatory.

Blaise moaned, his head falling forward and landing on Hermione's shoulder, where he sucked and bit and marked her.

"Room. In your room," he managed to gasp out, removing his hand from hers, and reaching into the vacant pocket. He pulled out her room key, fumbling it slightly as he tried to fit it into the lock. Finally, he heard a click, and turned the knob. The two stumbled back three steps before Blaise managed to turn Hermione and press her against the hotel room wall.

He kicked the door shut behind them, and tossed the key somewhere. He heard the key jingle as it fell, but he was kissing Hermione again while she continued to stroke his cock, making him twitch and shudder.

"Tell me you want me," Blaise muttered hoarsely, pulling back from Hermione, his fingers at the back of her neck where her halter top was tied.

Hermione looked at Blaise, silent but breathing forcefully. She then opened her lips and murmured, "I want you, Blaise. I want you to make love to me, I want you to fuck me, I want you to fuck me with your fingers and I want to lick every inch of you, get to know your every dip and ridge, every freckle on your gorgeous body."

Moaning, Blaise undid the knot of her halter, and helped her pull it over her head, his hands on her naked breasts (she hadn't worn a bra under her halter top); he was massaging them gently, teasing and plucking at the nipples, twisting them and then his mouth was there, loving them, kissing them, sucking on them and blowing, making them tighter than before.

Shivering, Hermione twined her fingers into Blaise's thick dark brown hair, arching her back and pushing her breasts closer to his face. He complied, lavishing attention on both breasts, moving back and forth between the two, blowing cool air on her nipples and even biting gently.

She tugged on his head after some time, pulling him back up to her face. She kissed him deeply and intently, sucking on his lower lip and tracing the outline of his lips before plunging in, stroking and exploring his mouth.

The two, in a tangle of arms and hands that roamed each other's bodies, moved from against the wall to the middle of the room, bumping into the dresser and causing a bottle of perfume to fall over with a glassy clank. Giggling, Hermione turned Blaise around, and helped him pull off his tank, before moving to his shorts' button and fly.

As she made work of his shorts, he was undoing the zipper of her miniskirt, relishing in the lengthy _ziiiiiiiiiip_ it made as he slowly lowered it, torturing his already heightened and needy senses.

Once the article of clothing was loose on Blaise, Hermione glanced up for a quick confirmation – received it – and lowered the shorts, carefully going over the tent that his black boxers displayed.

With his shorts on the floor, Blaise stepped out of them, kicking off his sandals at the same time, and watched with heavy-lidded and shadowed eyes as Hermione began to trace a path from his foot up with her tongue, stopping and going over places when she heard Blaise gasp or moan.

She kneeled on the floor, mindful of his cock twitching every time her lips came close to it, before deliberately moving away and continuing to forge a path for later, exploring with open curiosity as she ogled Blaise's physique. Her tongue dipped into his naval, where he gave a low moan of pleasure, and across his tight abs. Her tongue bit and marked and left a hickey on his pectorals. _Her_ body went hot and she felt her fingertips and toes tingle and curl in anticipation.

Feeling need and desire, she stood and wiggled teasingly out of her miniskirt, taking her panties off at the same time. She was exposing herself fully to the Italian. Her thoughts were muddled with want, her heart was urging her to be careful but her body was practically thrumming with need, wanting Blaise to slide into her and out, fast and slow, hard and gently, oh so many times as the night wore on until they watched the sun rise.

"So wet and so tight," he murmured at one point, licking her shoulder and moving up to suck on her earlobe, kissing the shell delicately and then blowing gently into it.

"Ride it, feel it, don't hold back," he groaned huskily as her hand found his cock through his damp boxers, squeezing and stroking it. She began to experiment with pressure and speed, to the best of her ability, until she decided to slip her hand into his boxer and feel the warm flesh for herself.

Blaise moaned and pressed his hips against her hand, while his own fingers stalled for a moment before picking up pace again, fucking her harder and faster now while whimpers of ecstasy escaped her lips.

Blaise had maneuvered her against the wall by her bed by this point, using it as leverage while he pumped his – not so aching, but soon tired – hand into her tight twat as his own hips moved against the woman's hand. "Merlin, you're so wet for me, it makes me so hard and I want you so bad…"

"So take me," Hermione gasped as his fingers hit a spot, causing her to shiver uncontrollably.

Blaise moaned, removing his soaked fingers; Hermione let out a tiny whimper of protest, but watching in amazement as he brought his wet fingers to his mouth, where he licked them clean of her essence.

Gently but firmly, Blaise moved Hermione toward the bed, and then pressed her down. She lay across it horizontally, watching Blaise's hypotonic eyes as he ran his hands up from her stilettos (which she still wore), up past her knees to her thighs, where he pried them apart slowly.

Hermione shook with need.

Blaise decided enough was enough, stood, and with a yank, removed his boxers from his body, preparing himself for what was to happen.

Hermione's face showed a rosy afterglow and the bridge of her nose and cheeks slightly sun kissed from her earlier tanning. Blaise smelled of a delicious mix of spice and sex, a scent with Hermione greedily inhaled and committed to memory.

"That… was brilliant," muttered Blaise, rolling off to Hermione's side and giving her breathing space.

"Thank you," whispered Hermione tiredly, cuddling against her old classmate.

Blaise raised a quizzical brow. "What for? The best sex that I've ever had?"

Hermione shook her head. "Because you were my first and made it spectacular. I hope you aren't mad that you _are_ my first, are you?"

"Never," Blaise responded fiercely. "You gave me a precious gift and I will always cherish that."

Hermione beamed, snuggling and fitting her head in the crook of Blaise's neck and shoulder.

Blaise breathed deeply, throwing an arm over his eyes and smiled.

----

**AN:** May.13.06 Wooooo, now is that hot or what? I've seriously been reading way too many romance novels lately! Please read and review, and if you get to a point in the story where you feel as though you think it doesn't fit its MA rating – see summary for confirmation – than please DO NOT just have my story removed… send me an email with a complaint instead.

For the full sex scene, you can find it at ADULT under the penname "Kneazle" if you use the search feature.


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